


c'est la vie en bleu ciel

by blue_roses



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Romance, lesbeans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_roses/pseuds/blue_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with Lena kissing her without any reason, nothing further. Little trinkets and gifts, mostly in the theme of the black widow spider. Thank god she didn’t invite Amelie to a movie, but that didn’t stop her from taking pictures of whoever this Black Widow character is with an “it u luv”. Ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	c'est la vie en bleu ciel

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy the self indulgent lesbeans

  Amelie Lacroix grew up in Annecy, in a house along an alleyway she always kept her eyes open in. She never liked narrow spaces, or the dark, but spiders were her greatest irrational fear. In loud family gatherings, when she flinched at raised voices and hid with open books, she was told  _ with all your fears, you’re going to have to find someone so brave they’re no longer real _ . They were referencing fairy tale knights, not Gerard. But goddamn if she didn’t fall for him anyways.

  She met him when she was seventeen, slightly slouching due to another comment about her height. Frustration clouded her eyes, another day, another insecurity she couldn’t shake off. She wouldn’t allow herself to show this in front of her family, even though she was never a crier. Something about the vulnerability of feeling the least bit of emotion frightened her to no end. He was walking down the alley she so despised, and only seeing a shadow in the sunlight, she threw whatever she could find. Which included, in this order: a textbook, a pocket knife, a boxcutter, and a pair of reading glasses everyone insisted she used even though she had perfect vision.

   When a boy, nearly a man, came with a knife wound on his hand and holding her textbook, he said something along the lines of:  _ you’re feisty, with a good aim too _ , and before she knew it he managed to wedge himself in her world. He introduced himself as Gerard Lacroix, and made it his duty to walk her whenever their eyes meet in the alleyway. Eventually, it became more often than not, and when Amelie asked how, Gerard mentioned that he memorized every time she did or didn’t show up. She was flattered, because no one went that out of their way to understand how she functioned, not even the girl herself.

    He asked her out, very casually, when his hand lingered near hers in a second she’d notice. Gerard always said she was the most astute person he knew, so smart, so beautiful. He waxed words for her when she noticed the way his hand drifted towards hers. When she said  _ yes,  _ the world was painted in dusty pink. She wore pastels, improved her cooking, studied to go to law school. She was still a student when they were married, twenty (and a half), and he was already joining the military: intelligence corps. Perhaps he was talking about himself when he called her astute, because everything beautiful about her turned into a flaw.  _ There’s too much salt in the food _ ,  _ why are you still in law school, take your medicine in makes you look healthy _ the  _ tus  _ that felt intimate rolled off his tongue like sandpaper.

   He always had a youthful bravado, but his work, she insisted it was his work that shaped his expectations of her. The ones that seemed to come out of nowhere, so she worked, studied, cooked with his family recipes and used makeup to cover up anything that said she wasn’t a perfect housewife. She always had an extra bottle of medicine for her skin condition, didn’t want to look too  _ blue  _ because she was so cold to touch. Gone were the days of calling her cool skin relief in the lazy summers, she had to work hard just to keep him  _ loving  _ her.

   They lived in London three months after she graduated school, for the sake of his work. She wasn’t great at English, always in an accent, not understanding why everything was an  _ un  _ rather than  _ uns  _ and  _ unes  _ before realizing that was how the language worked. But she learned, so she could be the cute wife with the French accent. She wasn’t allowed to take a job, not through demand, but by a subtle pressure mounted on her like a steadily bleeding wound. In their apartment, she knew of the families who lived by last names and gave them pastries by their door. On Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, she’d get gifts at her doorstep. Soldier figures, charms and trinkets,  _ junk food.  _ Whoever it was waiting until Amelie stuffed her face with the latest processed snack and put the wrapper in front of the door before running off with it again. She heard the whoops of joy and the quiet sound of quick footsteps. She never chose to found out who, even though it would be easy to see beyond the white sneakers and the wisps of brown hair under a bright orange baseball cap.

    When Amelie Lacroix was twenty four, she and Gerard moved to Paris, another job transfer for a complicated system she found no fondness in trying to understand. On his longer days, she looked up careers and saw pages on civil court, divorce attorney…

  Gerard decided to walk in as she researched articles, _ Amelie, you already have a career here with making people miserable.  _ While most of her curled into herself and went into almost tears and almost fits, she let herself research more about divorce. 

   It only made sense that after that, he kept on going. He noticed she was too blue lately, her dresses were faded why not buy new ones, why was her food over seasoned, and all she could think is that  _ rose  _ was never her color. All she could wonder was why he claimed he wanted feisty but he just wanted the Amelie everyone else saw. It was then when she spilled  _ something  _ on the table and that  _ something  _ lead to  _ someone  _ saying words she’d heard before but they stung in a way she wasn’t used to.

   He stepped towards her, domineering and cruel and this was not the man she fell in love with god help her. He had a coldness in his eyes he knew would be masked with a smile at work, so she threw a glass, then a bottle, then pulled the chandelier from above the table and threw it on him for good measure. She was shaking, yes, but that didn’t stop her from flushing her pills down the toilet. Her impromptu ponytail matched her black turtleneck and jeans. She kept the heels though, looked damn good in those. A week later, Amelie Lacroix filed divorce papers. If you asked her how the hell she won, she’d say it was because she had herself. It wouldn’t be a boast. Amelie was a lot of things, yes, but she never wanted to be a victim. No, if Gerard made her life hell for years, she’d do the same tenfold. She leaves with money, the belongings she wanted, and a ticket to New York. It felt like a cliche start, but it was a good place for the bilingual  _ ruthless  _ woman in the making. The process didn’t feel difficult to her, maybe because she was already most of the way there.

     When someone’s demeaned for most of her life, there are always going to be side effects. People might expect her to get drunk, cry, do something stupid like get a tattoo. Well she  _ did  _ get drunk, she did  _ not  _ cry (instead opting for drunken bathroom sex to entertain her), and she...got a tattoo. In gothic lettering saying  _ cauchemar  _ on her right forearm. At first she panicked, but at a certain point she stopped giving a shit. Some would whine, say she was being  _ unhealthy  _ and not coping properly. Amelie would disagree, she’d never felt more healthy in her goddamn life.

   It got better when she applied to an international law firm with more sublets than she cared to count. There was an underlying tone she  _ loved _ , and the longer the interviewed various bosses in a near grueling process, the more she realized she didn’t have much of a moral compass in the first place. She just liked things  _ done _ . Even when she was a girl, or a wife, she always felt a need for efficiency. So maybe she’d enjoy this a bit more. 

   Within the months it took for credit transfers, and courses, the training with Talon, she had become the divorce attorney she deserved. She stopped seeing people as anything than meat sacks, and associates as targets, but she supposed that was a practical way of viewing things. They say she was quick to rise to the top, but she just said she was being efficient. No one asked her to clarify whether she was being humble or not.

  People began suspecting she was a serial killer, which put chills in her spine and what could  _ almost  _ be a joyful smile. The ball started rolling when she was asked, by an intern,  _ if you were really a divorcee, why did you keep your ex husband’s last name _ ? She laughed, and it came out raspy from what she denied was a sore throat, and said.

  “Mon cheri, I did so as proof I  _ won _ .” The intern looked at her as if she was the devil herself, and she found she was quite fond of the expression. The effects washed over in her rising the ranks once more, and people taking a step back instead of forward when speaking to her. 

   When Amelie was thirty, a client’s soon to be ex husband hung himself in the process of a losing battle. Most would grieve, she celebrated with bourbon she got from a colleague. She’d heard herself being called the firm’s widow maker, she thought it had a nice ring to it.

   The next day, more hungover than she’d admit after finishing a bottle, everyone around the firm knew she’d rip whoever gets near her to shreds. When they see a woman come into the offices, blissfully unaware,  _ whistling _ , it wouldn’t be a stretch to say she’d come out crying. They might’ve seen her as a slab of meat, but Amelie saw her as a  _ fine  _ slab of meat if she did say so herself.

   So Amelie decided to play nice. Picking up a random pastry, she put on her attempt at a warm smile and walked up to the woman. She seemed gullible, an easy target, and Amelie was getting a little bored with the way things were.

   “What can I help you with?” she said, the other womans eyes widened, and she smiled.

    “Hey! I’m just here to check out where my boss of the day is gonna be, bein’ a private pilot and all, I got a lil’ curious. I’m Lena Oxton, sometimes I go by Tracer, but that’s another story. Nice to meet ya!” Lena extended her hand, and Amelie took it. Her grip was firm, her smile was steady and open, people like this didn’t come into Talon. There was a slight thrill at the fact that Amelie could possibly ruin this girl, and have a damn fun time doing it. Lena Oxton would have no idea what was coming for her.

  Over the two years Amelie had known Lena, she’d known the other woman was obnoxious, overly cheerful, and she waited for the time to make her mark. She found she didn't know when, because Lena Oxton was unpredictable and fast paced at the same time. Even the smallest bits of cruelty went unnoticed, or as Amelie later suspected was friendly dismissal. The gesture felt so foreign in Talon that most people greeted her with a mix of fear and friendliness. But never too friendly, just because they didn't fear Lena didn't mean they stopped fearing Amelie. Life went on like this, a strange familiarity Amelie was desperate to avoid thinking about. She still felt best when she did a well executed job, still had skin edging on blue due to her condition. Things were, in her opinion, going rather well.

  Of course, that all went to shit when she heard, through a cold military message, that Gerard Lacroix was dead. It didn't faze her, death was something that came for everyone, and she found no grief in his passing. If Amelie viewed this as a moment of sorts, she'd say the moment shifted when she saw Gerard’s will. There was property, assets, and a pair of reading glasses. The moment she saw the glasses from when she was seventeen and they first met, she took a bottle of vodka from her shelves and didn't bother to get a glass to go with it.

  She couldn’t believe that of all times to get completely drunk and  _ emotional,  _ Lena Oxton had to come into her office. Amelie wasn’t crying, or whining, but her face probably had some pitiful expression and she had to remember Gerard and her family and everything that made her  _ weak _ . She’d never say they were flashbacks, something about the word felt intimate in a way she didn’t like. No, they were simply words and actions that stuck too much in her mind.

   “Love? Amelie are you feelin’ alright? Don’t wanna bug ya, just had a lil’ client delay and wanted to pop in for--”

   “Don’t call me that.”

  Lena takes a step closer, and Amelie sees how stupidly big and brown her eyes are. How the hell does she have  _ freckles  _ when she could have other marks. Lena’s teeth ran over her lower lip, she wouldn’t stop  _ looking _ and it made Amelie want to fuck her senseless.

  “Amelie, ya can tell me what’s goin’ on. I know I seem a bit all over the place, but I’m a good listener!” Lena pulled up a chair, sat herself down in front of Amelie, and she hates how fucking relaxed she is. Just like her prey is before she throws them down below her and has her way with them. Lena kept on looking at her with those pleading sympathetic  _ sickening  _ eyes, and she was almost lost in them. Disgusting.

  Amelie yanked Lena in for a kiss she damn hoped bruised. Her hands laced around Lena’s head, pulling the other woman towards her. Running her teeth against Lena’s lower lip, Amelie near jammed Lena’s body against her desk--the only thing separating them. Her eyes were still wide open, shocked, while Amelie allowed hers to only be partially open. It didn’t stop Lena from constantly  _ gasping  _ whenever they separated, and the moment her eyes finally closed, Amelie heard a knock on the door. Amelie pulled her head back first, fingers untangling from Lena’s hair. Lena’s arms, which had finally gotten around Amelie’s waist, droop back to her sides. She was wide eyed, breathing heavily.

   “Get. Out.” Amelie hissed, and a moment later she opened the door, greeting a client while Lena damn near bolted out the door. Good. She hoped the woman would stop being so obnoxiously caring. Being forcibly kissed would scared her off, Amelie was sure of it.

   After the meeting, with a clipped sense of detachment, Amelie drunk herself to a few hours of dreamless sleep. She woke up, six uneventful hours later, and got to work. Another young wife divorcing her older husband. She’d have fun tearing him apart, men like that were always easy prey. She could feel the small smile stretching her face, and turned her laptop from sleep mode. If people noticed she was especially vicious, no one said anything about it.

   Two and a half weeks later, Lena Oxton strolls into Talon with a smile and a fast paced demeanor, as usual. She came into Amelie’s office at 4:17 PM, with a sugary pastry, a messenger bag, and a smile. She closed the door behind her before sitting, once again, in the chair across from Amelie’s desk.

   “Sorry bout all the running around love, glad to see you’re feelin’ better…” she paused, running a hand through her hair before  _ groaning  _ of all things, “Argh! I’m so bad at this whole, properly explaining things, but...I  _ liked  _ ya kissing on me. I was just, surprised!” Lena continued to run a hand through her hair, and for once, actually avoided eye contact. Amelie wanted to  _ do  _ something about this information. She checked her agenda: nothing until six. Perfect.

   “Ma cherie, do you want me inside you? To fuck you until you can’t see straight?” Hook, line, all she had to do was wait. Lena swallowed, an obvious sound, before stepping closer. Amelie could see the flush of her face, and the dust of red on her  _ bare _ exposed neck. There was so much she’d like to do with it, and Amelie was damn well going to have her chance.

   “Yes,” she sounded like she had the wind knocked out of her, not even trying to sound composed. Sinker. Amelie walked across her office, closing blinds and securing the lock. The office was soundproof, for the sake of noisy clients, and Amelie was not fond of voyeurs. 

   “Clear the desk, I’d like to see you spread out for me, you can do that, yes?”

    “Oh,  _ fuck  _ yeah love, now you’re speaking my language.”

  It turned out Amelie didn’t have to speak much to leave Lena writhing and moaning. A sex scented,  _ greedy  _ mess. It didn’t take convincing for Amelie to know this wasn’t going to be the first time. It was rare for prey to feel this addicting, but Lena Oxton proved herself to be a woman of exceptions. The one con was that Lena was a talker, asking about her day as if Amelie hadn’t proved herself to be a rather predatory woman with no moral compass. It didn’t take much for Lena to have realized she wasn’t a good person, but it didn’t stop the brown haired woman from asking. So Amelie spoke, fairly clipped, and pushed back the feeling of warmth when Lena smiled at any detail she included. She practically whooped in joy when Amelie mentioned she ate a few too many bags of various junk foods, it was a fairly useless fact. 

  They didn’t move much beyond Amelie’s office at fairly random hours, sometimes there were more scheduled hotel sessions, but both of them were busy people. It was natural. It didn’t stop Amelie from thinking of new ways to tie Lena up on her off hours, she wanted to see Lena’s opinion on collars, before realizing she didn’t have the other woman’s cell. This usually wouldn’t bother her, she barely used her cell phone to contact anyone other than needy clients, her bosses, and Talon’s private investigator/muscle Reyes. Most of those were brief and rare conversations, and she wouldn’t miss them (with the occasional exception of Reyes’s and hers recipe exchange and ex complaining). But she felt a strange  _ need  _ to have Lena Oxton’s number, and Amelie got what she wanted.

   Three days later, Lena gave her cell number while practically  _ glowing.  _ Amelie didn’t understand why, but she think she did when she saw an onslaught of texts. From the mundane pictures of views and whatever’s considered “cute”, to various raunchy texts, pictures sometimes included. She wasn’t very good at intentional erotic expressions, but for some reason her broad smile was a perfect substitute. Amelie didn’t think much of it, she preferred to keep things simple, the emotional part wasn’t part of her plan.

  As she would learn, her plan was full of holes. Nothing could possibly account for the fact that Lena was just too  _ much _ . Too affectionate, too kind, too considerate, too  _ good _ and Amelie knew it was rubbing off on her when she didn’t humiliate a client’s spouse when given the opportunity. Something about being able to do without it,  _ morals _ . The rational part of her was telling her this had to end, being ruthless was everything to her, this was going to jeopardize it. Stupid, stupid Amelie did not end it. But that didn’t mean she’d let Lena  _ win.  _ No, she’d be in control, that was something she wasn’t willing to lose.

   She hated the fact that she did. It started with Lena kissing her without any reason, nothing further. Little trinkets and gifts, mostly in the theme of the black widow spider. Thank  _ god  _ she didn’t invite Amelie to a movie, but that didn’t stop her from taking pictures of whoever this Black Widow character is with an “it u luv”. Ridiculous. She ignored the smirk that tugged at her whenever Lena sent the ones with the character killing people. If  _ only _ . Then there came Lena bringing flowers, and Amelie might have been reminded of Gerard and might of thought she had felt  _ something  _ because that was the last straw.

    “ _ Why  _ are you doing this?” she asked, it was 3:00 in the morning, most were home. Even then, Lena closed the door behind her as if Amelie didn’t ask that question.

     “Really love? I thought it was pretty obvious, it’s cause I  _ like  _ you.” Obvious. Sure. But Amelie wasn’t having it. She wasn’t seventeen anymore, she knew better. She didn’t feel much since Gerard, and she enjoyed her selective emotion. Amelie was plenty aware that she wasn’t  _ dating  _ material of all things, and this brought her satisfaction. She  _ liked  _ people being afraid of her, so why the hell did Lena have to step all over that? Amelie seethed, and she hoped it finally scared the woman off, even though by this point she knew better.

   Lena continued, unfazed, “I’ve known you for longer than you think Amelie.”

    “What?” Amelie hissed, because she was truly at a loss for words. She left everyone from her old life behind, and had a way of doing things here that wouldn’t allow her to be easily recognized. 

    “Love, ya know I never stopped wearing white shoes.” Lena smiled, and the pieces clicked together in that moment, like some shitty movie. 

_ Merde _ , was Amelie’s first thought. The junk food, the trinkets, the orange and white. She was supposed to have a good memory, except with Gerard. But that was intentional, no  _ fucking  _ wonder. Amelie didn’t want to sink to the floor, no, she wanted to throttle Lena Oxton, wrap her hands around her throat. Whether that ended up in sex or murder, Amelie wasn’t sure yet, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to get her hands on Lena.

   “ _ Et c'est comme ça _ , of course,  _ merde. C’est la vie _ , can never catch a damn break.” Amelie, whether it was for nostalgia or the fact that her head’s throbbing, unties her hair. She could hear the intake of breath and couldn’t bring herself to care.

   “Whatcha sayin’ love? Don’t know much French here, even though I  _ am  _ an international pilot.” Lena was still smiling,  _ teasing _ and in control and absolutely disgusting. Amelie had no coherent response, so she settled for ignoring it.

   “Good,” she hissed, and Lena giggled of all things. 

    “Aw  _ Amelie,  _ y’know you’re adorable, right? I wanna kiss ya so bad--”

Against her better judgment, Amelie kissed her, lips insistent, nails digging into her back as she pulled their bodies close. Whether it was out of some  _ emotion  _ or to shut her up, Amelie didn’t want to think about it. So she didn’t.

  Amelie had to think about it when she woke up, on the floor of her office two hours later, Lena Oxton softly snoring next to her. The first thing she did was check the time: if people weren't already in the office, they would be soon. But Amelie found no willingness to move. Lena’s arm was wrapped around her waist. She could stay a bit longer, she always kept a few extra sets of clothes in the office. Though the fact she had to justify her lazing around frustrated her to no end.

  “G’morning love, how're ya feelin? I know I'm sore myself, but I see you g--”

  “Stop talking,” Amelie did her best to growl it out, but it sounded weak. Lena giggled, let another hand stroke Amelie’s face. She shivered, and it was definitely due to the cold of the office. Amelie glared at Lena, because who else is to blame for these… _ events. _

 “Hm, whatcha lookin at?” Lena’s smile turned into an outright grin, a cheeky one to boot. Amelie never wanted it to go away. She grimaced at her most recent thought process, and as if Lena read her mind (since when did Amelie get so predictable?), she gave a light kiss to Amelie's temple.

  “Do you wanna stay here for a bit, just the two of us, before life whisks us away?” Amelie wouldn't say she saw the sky in the way the light hit Lena’s skin, to the way she smiled, to her entire world. But that would be an obvious lie. 

   “Fine,” Amelie said, because she was told  _ with all your fears, you’re going to have to find someone so brave they’re no longer real _ . They were referencing something the stuff of fairy tales, not Lena Oxton, but goddamn if she didn’t fall for her anyways.


End file.
